Viewpoint
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Unlike many of the helghast refugees on Vekta, Echo could see the truth. Could face the fact that it was better to make the most of a bad situation rather than stir the hornet's nest. Unfortunately, many helghast could not, or would not, see this. Maybe it came from wearing those masks all the time.


_A/N_

_This was written before _Shadow Fall _was released, and having seen what I can of the story on YouTube (don't even have a PS3, let alone a PS4), I admit that Echo's characterization is somewhat...divergent. Altered it a bit, but as I prefer to use canon characters rather than OCs for the most part, figured it would be better to stretch it rather than use an OC in this case._

* * *

**Viewpoint**

"You fucking bitch!"

"Actually, I'm a virgin."

The terrorist stopped squirming, and Echo could imagine the look of surprise that would be flickering through his eyes right now. Not that she could see them, since the man still insisted on wearing that mask.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"You…said…"

"You called me a fucking bitch. Well, thing is, I've never been fucked, and I don't possess the reproductive organs to do the deed myself." She drew out her knife and tapped the blade on the man's crotch. "Then again, if you don't start to cooperate, we might not be too dissimilar in that regard."

"Fuck you."

Echo flipped the blade back into the knife's hilt. It made cracking the idiot's goggles with her fist so much easier.

The operative began pacing back and forth while she waited for the nitwit to regain his bearings, sparing a glance at the open door that led outside to the Helghan Sector. She could be there, she reflected. Just head out, report, get a pat on the back, and see what Vektan contraband her friends might have for her. Not playing babysitter for a Black Hand member who seemed intent on bringing everything crashing down on them.

"The…Black Hand…"

Echo tore the man's mask off. He looked up at her. Grey eyes, pasty skin, completely bald – in every sense a normal helghast. Doing what some considered to be normal things.

"will preserve…the helghast way…"

"I'm flattered," she murmured.

"Duty…obedience…loyalty…"

"I know the Helghast Triad, you don't need to recite it."

"You don't," the terrorist spat. "Too many people don't. Our people forget. Our people forgive. The chancellor sleeps with the wolves wearing the clothes of a sheep-"

"Do you know why you're here?" Echo asked.

The terrorist fell silent.

"You're here because it's my job to make the right people think that's true. It's my job to stop numbskulls like you from breaking that illusion. And if the sheep's clothing has to come off…well, I'll do that as well." She knelt down. "But here's the problem – your Black Hand group is making that a bit difficult for us."

"The Vektans-"

"If they had the stomach to finish what they began on Helghan, they don't need an excuse. But poke the dragon in the eye long enough, and that might change."

"You know nothing of dragons."

Echo got to her feet, wondering when the interrogators would arrive to do the job they were meant for, rather than relying on her to do it for them. The man was right she supposed – she knew nothing of dragons. Only that they were mythical creatures of a world that might as well not exist, and one that she'd certainly never set foot on. The universe might as well have been confined to Alpha Centauri, she reflected. Heck, maybe just Vekta. After all, Helghan was a dead world. When she'd grown up on her side of the wall, it was hard to believe that there was even a world outside her district.

_Sometimes I wish there wasn't. _She glanced out the door, through the rain, up at the wall that separated the helghast from their oppressors. _Screw that, I always do. We all do._

But wishes didn't change reality. Actions did. Sometimes, in the case of the Black Hand, trying to break the peace, stupid actions.

"Do you know what the problem is?" Echo asked eventually.

The terrorist looked up at her. He kept looking as she picked up his helmet.

"This," she said. "This is the problem."

"The helmet is-"

"Yes, yes, the symbol of helghast strength and determination, a sign of honour, converted by Scolar Visari from a mark of shame as our ancestors toiled away on empty stomachs," Echo said. "Yes, I've seen the tapes, I studied history." She tossed it in the man's lap. "Well, guess what? It isn't needed. The air isn't poisonous here, the helmet does little good in combat, and yet you're still wearing it."

_And half the population too._

"The helmet-"

"So, is it to protect your identity?" she asked. "Well, it failed. You failed." She heard footsteps, seeing the interrogators enter the room. "Have fun."

Echo began walking. Briskly. Sooner or later (usually sooner) the shouts would begin, and she had no intention of being in their vicinity.

"The Black Hand is gaaaah!"

_Ugh._

She kept walking. She preferred her work to be without screams. Screams were loud. Unnecessary. The sign of a sloppy assassin. She hoped that after decades of training, she was well beyond such mistakes, of having to rely on such barbarous techniques. That she was indeed Hera Visari's right hand and daughter Even as she kept those of a Black Hand in check.

_Yes. Still an assassin._

She glanced up at the wall. The bars. The fortress of the oppressors. The ones they should really be fighting.

_And, still a helghast._

At least, she hoped so.


End file.
